About the Work
A sailor narrates from inside a slow sinking. He is not the first to go. The ship is taking on water; the crew has been taking on something else for longer. The story is about what the sea does to men before it takes them.
Story
Jacob lies below, his head fevered- we have set him up for rest. Binding him tightly with cloth, a bastion against the nightmares that take his body, he lies in a hammock, receiving visitors and rations often. We treated him with due respect; Jacob was once one of the best men on the ship. In the depths of hell, as we battled the cruel and restless children of the maiden, he would be the first to take to the masts, the first to secure them, fearless. Over the last few weeks, however, that bravery has evaporated, the man had hollowed out. Reduced to nothing but a shell, another beast had taken his body. Allam had said, witnessing one of his fits, that the man known as Jacob had long since perished. To that extent, I cannot be sure. Jacob was a brother, and until his body ultimately fails, he would retain his place at our table, a stool at the westward waterhole.
Miss Betty, perhaps the sight of her would bring Jacob back to us; he always was fond of her, tipping her far too much than a lowly deckhand could afford. Both of them were young. I had reckoned someday Jacob would depart from us. As good of a sailor that he was, his body was limber, and until recently, his mind was sharp enough to lead a normal life. No one going into this job retained their intellect; the great seaborn winds stripped it from you. It gives me comfort, thinking of such simplicities, indulging in false futures’ numbing medicine. I have aged prematurely, I believe, another symptom of the fair maiden’s touch; her kiss stole years away from you.